Cold Steel
by JediKnightBalthasar
Summary: Legolas loves the flame, and when he looks deep into it, that is all that can soothe his soul. But when that isn't enough, Legolas finds himself a masochist, taking a dagger to his flesh--and even that won't be enough for long...*Note to flamers in Ch. 4*
1. Your character is your destiny

To Sam S. because, like Elrohir, he knew.  
  
Title: Cold Steel  
  
Summary: Legolas loves fire--because if he stares into the flames it takes his worries away. But fire is no longer enough for him. It is up to Elrohir to save his friend before Legolas takes his new hobby too far. No slash. Lots of angst.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any character you recognize nor any location.  
  
Warning: Self-mutilation  
  
Author's Note: Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir are supposed to be around eleven human years old. And feedback is appreciated but please no flames. Criticism is fine, but I really hate getting flames. I am currently editing and re-working this story; chapters will be reposted as I finish with them.  
  
/~/ means flashback  
  
***** means scene change  
  
"Close my eyes when it gets too sad,  
  
I think thoughts that I know are bad"  
  
--Everclear, Wonderful  
  
*****  
  
"What do you mean, Legolas?"  
  
The Elfling in question shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't meant to arouse suspicion. It had been a careless comment, and if he had been more careful there would be no trouble now! He cursed himself again, and answered in a careful and measured tone of voice, "I meant nothing, Elrohir. I simply spoke without thinking is all. Please, forgive my mistake."  
  
"I think sometimes we need to make mistakes, Legolas. Sometimes they help us do things we need to do but are too scared to do on our own. Like asking for help," the second Elfling said with heavy implication.  
  
"I need no help, Elrohir. I am quite fine, thank you. I appreciate your concern." Legolas had been visiting the twins, his friends, in Imladris. A careless comment had, he feared, incriminated his family. It had not been made with hurtful intentions.  
  
/~/ Elrohir sprawled on his bed, his eyes to the ceiling. Legolas sat perched on the edge of the bed. The two had been carrying on a friendly conversation for quite a while. Elrohir was brooding about something, but had been denying it. "Come on, Elrohir, you are my friend and I know you are upset. What is it?"  
  
"Well. . .it is just that Ada has been so busy lately. I feel a bit rejected by it. I know I am selfish, but I just feel like he has been ignoring me as of late."  
  
"I do not understand," Legolas said, thoroughly baffled.  
  
"Usually he is not so preoccupied, so he can spend time with Elladan, Arwen and I. Recently he has been so busy he has not had any spare time."  
  
"'Spend time with'?"  
  
"You know, Legolas. Like helping me with Archery or the Westron language."  
  
"Oh, I understand. I thought all families were like that. . ."/~/  
  
"I meant nothing, Elrohir!" Legolas jumped up in anger.  
  
"Calm down, friend, for soon you must leave for Mirkwood--less than an hour. Let us not waste the time in petty squabbles."  
  
"You are right, Elrohir. Truce?"  
  
"Truce."  
  
*****  
  
"Ada?" Elrohir called softly, pushing open the door to his father's study. "May I come in?"  
  
"Yes, Elrohir," Elrond said, glad to see his son. "I have wanted to talk to you for some time. Is everything all right?"  
  
"Yes and no. I am fine, but I am worried about Legolas." The prince had left for Mirkwood earlier that day, and it had taken Elrohir hours to work up the courage to confide his worries in Elrond. "He said something before he left that did not sound quite right."  
  
"What did he say?" Elrond also had his worries about the young Elf. Legolas was never exactly the same as the others; he seemed far older and quieter. When the others ran about, playing 'it' and other such games, Legolas would stand on the sidelines. Loud noises even seemed to disturb the boy, and he would often hide away in the library. When he could not get away from the noise he had a very disconcerting response, which Elrond had only once observed: he curled up into a ball and rocked. Elrond wondered if things were all right for the boy at home.  
  
"I was talking about. . ." Elrohir kicked at the floor, staring at his foot. "I was telling him how you had been busy lately, sort of too busy for us, mostly, and he said he thought all families were like that. They are not, are they, Ada?"  
  
"No, Elrohir, they are not. Unfortunately, whatever is upsetting Legolas is not our business, and it is not right to go getting involved. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes. But Legolas is my friend. . ." Elrohir knew that his father argued a diplomatic principle, with unarguable logic. His heart, however, seemed to direct him another way. It was not, by his morals, all right to watch his friend suffer.  
  
"Do not worry. You will see Legolas again before long. In fact, I may have to journey to Mirkwood quite soon. Suppose I took you and your brother along? Would that help, do you think?" Elrond suspected that Legolas enjoyed the company of Elrohir, who was the more contained of the twins, quite in contrast to Elladan who was always bouncing off the walls-- sometimes literally.  
  
"Yes, I think so. With hope."  
  
*****  
  
Fat drops of rain began to fall as Legolas reached Mirkwood. He had been riding for nearly three weeks to reach it, though he was not expecting anyone to be waiting for him with open arms. Never in his life had such a thing happened, not in as long as he could remember at any rate. Home was not where the heart was, for the young monarch.  
  
After stabling his horse and making sure it was fed, Legolas took his things up to his room to unpack and resettle. He folded or hung his clothes. In his drawers Legolas had categorized his clothing; tunics were done by length, leggings by color. The Elfling was unusually organized for one his age, and he liked it the way. On his bed he made a pile of clothes needing to be washed. Once that was done, he carried the dirty garments down to the laundry. Having things in order, he bounded back to his room-- not making a sound, as Elves can.  
  
"Hello, room!" exclaimed the young prince, breathing deeply the scent of the familiar things. "Hello, bed!" he said to the neatly made bed. "Hello candles! Hello books!" He hugged his piles of books enthusiastically, breathing in the musty smell of their pages. The rows of candles on the shelf in front of him, some half-melted and others never having been lit, brought a smile to his face. Though many hours of riding had made him weary, or perhaps for that very reason, he was gladdened by simple pleasures of being home. "Welcome home, Legolas," he told himself.  
  
He was having such a good day that Legolas thought he might sleep smiling. Despite the rain, he had had an enjoyable ride. Not a single orc or warg had been spotted recently. He had missed the presence of his parents at supper, but his brother Naithon had been nice to him--for Naithon, which meant ignoring the boy completely. He had finished a book that he quite enjoyed, and it ended in a splendid manner, just as Legolas wanted it to.  
  
Legolas was sitting at his desk, writing in his diary, when it started. The rain slamming against the window had sounded like music, and the candle at his desk shed light merrily. The sudden sound of a shout broke his concentration, and utterly shattered his happiness. At one loud outburst, he jumped, overturning his inkwell. He simply stripped off his outer tunic to mop up the spilled ink. With that taken care of, he surrendered to the western corner of his room. The screaming continued, penetrating his very bones. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.  
  
The rain was not pleasant music anymore. It was heavy, heavy drums, beating in his brain. Now it was hammers. Now it was ruin, sheer destructive force. His docile flame was a roaring fire, threatening to eat him alive. The trees outside pulled up from the ground and advanced.  
  
It was too much. Legolas risked use of his muscles, sprinting to get his candle, then back to his corner. Staring into the flame, he did not blink. Legolas's vision started to fog over, and all tat existed was him and the light, no shouts, just him and the flame. . .A sharp voice speaking Quenya cut into his trance. Legolas tried again, focusing on the reddest part of the flame. Again, Quenya ripped him from his concentration.  
  
Something else flashed through the Elfling's mind, something else red. . .his dagger lay right on his bed, on the pillow where he had thrown it. Gathering his courage, he snatched it up. It took mere seconds to unsheathe the dagger.  
  
/~/ "Why do they fight like this, Naithon?" A young Legolas had inquired. His parents had not, in his memory, gotten along well--but sometimes when he dreamed, he saw his mother's face, young, soft, and smiling. It looked unlike her, but somehow he knew it was.  
  
"I do not know. All I know is that they did not before you came. You brought this on us, Legolas, you curse. You made us this way. And you will suffer for it." Naithon had replied. The younger boy begged him to say that it was not so, but Naithon refused, claiming that he never would lie./~/  
  
His brother's words echoed often in his mind, but they were not there now. All that was there was the perfect skin and the cool steel. As he brought the blade's tip to the outer side of his lower left arm, the marvelous white of the skin flared up, and the steel, glinting silver, was the center of calm.  
  
The blade drew across his arm, a three-inch gash. Red flowed out, the calm red, the cool red. And the red washed away all the pain, all the pain in his heart. All that existed was the red. 


	2. Personal insight requires acknowledging ...

For the purposes of this story, Arwen is about the equivalent of a five-year-old, in size and age.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

To reviewers: I promise to respond to each of you individually next chapter. For now, thanks for reading.

*********

Legolas awoke on the floor. The dagger lay under his cheek, and all night he had slept on it. The tip had poked into his cheek, and now a small stream of blood dribbled out. Though his arm no longer bled, it had darkened the floor and his hair was matted and reddened. Crust-like tissue had come over the gash, now re-forming his once perfect skin.

Immediately, Legolas regretted what he had done. His parents would see, and what would they think? They would ask themselves what had they done wrong, and they had done nothing. He had to hide it, had to protect his parents from everything that he was doing, from these terrible deeds that would so hurt them.

Jumping to his feet, Legolas raced to bathe. He scrubbed his hair thoroughly, many times, until the water that he wrung from his golden tresses came out clear as crystal. He made sure the pink of his skin was from rough soap, not blood. Once he was satisfied with his cleanliness, he dressed.

Clothing was of the utmost importance, for he could no longer wear short-sleeved tunics. He had chosen a long-sleeved light-blue tunic, far too big for him. The sleeves went out past his fingertips. This could be used to his advantage. Using strings he tied the sleeves around his wrists.

"Afraid your arms are going to fall off?" Naithon asked sarcastically.

"The sleeves are too long," Legolas explained. "I wanted to keep them as out-of-the-way as possible." Yet the truth was exactly the opposite. He wanted his arms as hidden as possible.

All day Legolas was afraid. He became skittish around his parents, afraid they would see. They didn't know that he knew that he was the reason they fought all the time, and he liked it that way. They would feel awful if they knew and feel the need to tell him that no, he wasn't the reason they yelled so often--but he was, and he knew it. Only Naithon would tell him the truth.

More and more Legolas left his home. Daily he would climb into the big trees, and run as far from his dwelling as possible. The fear of discovery remained behind him. No other children sought solace in the treetops, and their loud cries stayed far away. The guilt of what he had done lingered, he still hated himself for making his parents fight like that, but the multiple healing slits on his arms, causing the constant and terrible ache, reminded him that had been justly punished for his crimes.

Up in the green branches, Legolas got to thinking. _What if I didn't go back?_ He wondered. _What if I just stayed up here for ever? But then, that would hurt them, and I have done plenty of that. Perhaps these cuts are wrong? The blood flows like music, and wraps warmly around me, taking me away from the harsh reality of my crimes. Is my punishment really a blessing?_

"How could you even think that?" He asked himself aloud. "How could you even consider no punitive action after what you did? Why, you only deserve to live because of all the pain you feel!" And in a terrible swarm of self-pity, he crumpled to the trunk of the tree.

*****

"I am all right! I--" Elladan stopped to sneeze. Wiping his eyes, he continued, "I am fine! You can take me to Mirkwood!" It had been a great disappointment to him to learn that he would not be accompanying his father and brother to Mirkwood, but he had fallen from a tree and broken his arm, and the journey would be extremely difficult in such a situation.

"Elladan, do not worry. You shall see your friend Legolas again. Just not now," Elrond tried to explain things in a way that would not make Elladan any more angry and upset than he already was.

"Legolas is Elrohir's friend. I want to see the giant spiders!"

"S-spiders?" a quaky voice asked.

"Oh, yes, Arwen. Huge spiders! So big they do not eat bugs, instead they eat full-grown elves! But the elves know better than to go near them--only children, whose tracking skills are not well honed, get caught in their webs!" Elladan smiled as he exclaimed these terrible non-facts. Arwen screamed and grabbed onto Elrond.

"Please, please, please don't make me go!" she howled, crying. Elladan smirked.

"Elladan!" Elrond said sharply. Then, lifting Arwen off the ground, he said softly, "Do not worry, Arwen. Elladan is only trying to frighten you."

"Then there are not any spiders that want to eat Elves?"

"No, there are not."

Many days later, Celebrian spoke to Elrond. "Perhaps it is best that Arwen goes with you. Elladan seems bored and has not stopped tormenting her, and he keeps on telling her frightening things. For example, he has not stopped going on about the spiders in Mirkwood."

Elrond sighed. "I had hoped Arwen could stay here. In fact, I was glad when Elladan was unable to go--I do not wish him to be hurt, but there is something wrong with Legolas, which I had hoped Elrohir could help with. However, if it is best for her that Arwen comes, then so be it."

A week later the three (Arwen, Elrohir, and Elrond) set out for Mirkwood. "Ada," Elrohir said, sure Arwen could not hear. "Are you sure that this is best--Arwen coming along and all?"

"It is for the best, one way or another."

*****

"It is good to see you again, Legolas!" Elrohir exclaimed. Legolas nodded. It had been an easy journey, though taxing on little Arwen, and Elrohir was glad to see his friend again. But something was wrong. Legolas's eyes were sunken and reddened, and his tunic sleeves covered his arms despite the warm weather. "I thought you hated to be so confined in warm clothing?"

"Well, I guess I have changed a bit," Legolas said nonchalantly. "Is that Arwen?" Legolas had never met Arwen, but he had heard Elrohir speak of her. Now she hid behind her brother.

"Yes, it is. Arwen, come on out, it is all right," Elrohir coaxed. "She is a little shy."

"That is all right," Legolas said. _I'd understand anyone not wanting to meet me_. Arwen stepped out from behind her brother. Her dark hair framed a pretty, childish face. It was clear she would be very beautiful one day. "Hello, Arwen," Legolas said in his least condescending voice.

"Who is he?" Arwen asked Elrohir. "How come he knows my name?"

"This is Legolas, he is my friend. I have spoken to him about you."

"All right. Mae govannen, Legolas." 

Later, as the three headed to Legolas's room, Elrohir pulled him aside. "What's wrong, Legolas?" Elrohir asked, a hand on the other boy's shoulder.

"I. . ." Legolas racked his brain. It was his heart's greatest desire to tell Elrohir the truth, but who was he to burden another as such? He had to stall, had to buy more time--!

"Elrohir?" Arwen stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them. "I do not want to get lost. It is scary without you!"

"Coming, Arwen!" Elrohir called. He returned his gaze to Legolas, but the moment had passed. Legolas trooped up the stairs to Arwen. Elrohir sighed and stood still. He might not get another chance for a while.


	3. Others may doubt what you say, but they'...

Disclaimer: I own nothing  
  
Coolkidkc: I don't think it makes you creepy or morbid. Maybe it means you have a future as a psychiatrist? Just kidding!  
  
Cheysuli: Um. . .not sure what to say now. Here's more, I guess. Oh, nice name by the way.  
  
KarateElf: Okay, does this fit your definition of soon? And as for your second review (thank you for reading the second chapter, by the way), you'll just have to wait and see how he deals with them! Or you could scroll down and read the chapter, of course. . .  
  
Susan: Gee. . .wow. Thanks! And, of course, I *almost* always continue.  
  
Carol Stevenson: Thanks for reading, I'm glad you liked it.  
  
Crys Ritter: Is it really not a common plot? And the song didn't inspire the story--the story was inspired by a girl I knew who, well, quite frankly used to hurt herself. The song, I thought just went well.  
  
Gryf_gal: Evil little reviewer! Violence is not the answer! If you just ask nicely, I'll write more. . .  
  
Smeagol: He isn't committing suicide, Smea. I told you about this story, remember? He's become a masochist, but not suicidal. Elrohir is younger than you, he has an excuse to be more ignorant. I always portray Legolas and Aragorn/Estel as being the melodramatic ones because so far all I've written for LotR non-humor fics is about them, and I have a flare for melodrama. If you want a good Frodo angst story, I would be glad to recommend one. Ha-ha, you're out of dark chocolate! The new movie comes out in ten days! **dances joyously**  
  
Unknown800: Continuation, but this isn't the end yet! (nowhere near)  
  
Blue Banrigh: The new chapter's up today, obviously. . .this was after the forest started to darken, thus the name "Mirkwood", not "Greenwood the Great". And I don't believe in happy families.  
  
Anya-Ring of Sarcasm: Is it really so rare? I didn't think so.  
  
Darkfellow: If you must flame, the least you could do is spell it properly. Also, if you call that uneventful then I **suggest** that you stop reading. Personally, I do not think that slicing your arm open is something you can just shrug off, and I think it's a pretty damn significant event.  
  
CocoBeans: Yay! Your review made me feel all warm and fuzzy, like slippers. (yeah, I'm pretty strange) I usually update fairly quickly--I'm addicted to typing!  
  
GoldenRose: Oh, split personality, those can be annoying--I've got at least four, myself. (Just kidding!)  
  
PoeticMuse: Thanks for saying all that nice stuff about the story! I have read a chapter of your Legolas romance and will read the rest as soon as opportunity arises.  
  
Lady of the Forest: Yes, I am revising--there were a lot of typos!  
  
LegyLuva: Thanks! I'll check out your story when I can, but my computer doesn't like to stay online for very long.  
  
Soulsearcher: Thanks, soulsearcher and soulsearcher's friend! I actually do know a boy who's that organized. And he's clean-obsessive, so much that he won't let me touch him (I tend to rub dirt in my hair). As for the "good day" thing, well, that's just from a song that suggests little things matter the most, and personally I think it's true. Do you ever hear your parents screaming? It's terrifying. Oh, that's an idea. . .maybe for a sequel, but I definitely love the idea. Thanks! Fluff is so lovely. Yes, Legolas does, and yes, Elrohir is Sam. Don't know that any one else knew that--Sam and I did, but other than that. . .  
  
Tamara: Thanks!  
  
*****  
  
Legolas was glad Arwen had come to Mirkwood forest. Not only had she distracted Elrohir that first day on the stairs, she was a sweet child and fair company. When she was not around, Elrohir moaned about having to watch over his little sister all the time, but Legolas could tell that Elrohir truly loved Arwen. She was still very young and innocent, and knew not of the veritable troubles of the wide world. Things were simple with her, and it helped Legolas get a perspective. In the ten days Arwen had been there Legolas had not taken blade to skin once.  
  
In fact, he was able to act normally with his friends there. He slept through the night now, no more waking up from dreams of harsh Quenya words and demons making him face what he had caused. He could eat without feeling choked up by guilt, feeling unworthy of food. Even Naithon's scowls weren't enough to keep food from Legolas's mouth. Normalcy became healthy for Legolas--sleep, food, romping through the forest with Elrohir and Arwen. His parents did not fight with Lord Elrond around. Legolas would almost have said that life was good.  
  
The day on the stairs had scared Legolas. He had almost told Elrohir everything. His heart cried out to him to ask for help, but he kept his heart in his chest and was silent. Though Elrohir had tried again to learn what was wrong, Legolas hid from him.  
  
/~/ "Legolas, wait just one moment please," Elrohir said, cornering Legolas outside of Legolas's quarters. "I would like to speak with you." It had been two days since that time on the stairs, and Elrohir had not felt the time right to ask about how Legolas had changed, but he also felt that he could not put it off.  
  
Legolas's heart jumped as he realized what Elrohir would ask. He steeled himself and prepared to act natural, as if nothing were wrong with him. He wouldn't even let on that he knew something was up. "What ever about, Elrohir?" asked the prince in his most innocent voice.  
  
"You know, Legolas, but I do not. What has happened to you? Why do you wear only long-sleeved clothes? Why does your laugh sound as though it has been hibernating? What has changed in you?"  
  
"Nothing has changed in me, Elrohir."  
  
"You know that to be untrue, Legolas!" Elrohir was despairing. He had known that something was wrong with his friend, but with all these denials. . .Elrohir was beginning to suspect that he had been wrong, and Legolas was fine. "Maybe it is not. I. . .I am sorry I have been poking about in your personal life."  
  
"That is quite all right. Good night, Elrohir."  
  
"'Night, Legolas." Yet something in his heart remained unsure. /~/  
  
The one drawback to having Arwen around was noise. Occasionally, a small spider or lizard would cross the room, and she would shriek--just a one- second pitch, but enough to make Legolas spasm and twitch. He could hardly stand noise. This was the one thing that kept Elrohir suspicious. "Legolas, I will be right back, would you watch Arwen for a minute please?" Elrohir asked.  
  
"Sure," Legolas replied. Watching Arwen was simple, for all it required was making sure she didn't hurt herself or do anything dangerous.  
  
"Thanks," Elrohir jumped to his feet and left the room. Elrohir had been gone only a few moments when he heard a scuttling noise. Turning, he saw a spider, about one foot tall, long, and wide, scurry into Legolas's room. He had time only to murmur, "Uh-oh" before he heard Arwen's scream. It was a full scream, one that filled up the room, bouncing off the walls. Elrohir sprinted back.  
  
Chaos had taken over. Arwen stood frozen, staring at the arachnid. Legolas was rocking, curled up into a ball. Somehow Elrohir doubted that Legolas's fear came from the aphid. The spider was running for the window. Elrohir took action, throwing the spider outside. "Arwen, be quiet! Now!" he commanded. He was usually nicer than that, but Legolas was frightened half to death. When Arwen's scream continued, Elrohir covered her mouth with his palm. She stopped screaming immediately, not having enough air to continue.  
  
"What is wrong with him, Elrohir?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe, her fright past and Legolas's painfully apparent. "I didn't mean to do anything!" Her chin quivered. Elrohir was afraid she would start to cry, and the last thing he needed was a teary child.  
  
"Of course not. Arwen, just. . ." the stress was getting to him. He was sure now that something was wrong with Legolas, and he was determined to fix whatever it was--determined, even more so than he had been when he first noticed it. What could he say without hurting her feelings? He didn't have time for this! "Just be quiet for a minute."  
  
"I really didn't--" she began, not understanding how important it was that she kept silent.  
  
"Be silent, Arwen!" Elrohir nearly screamed. He noticed with a sinking feeling that this only made Legolas whimper and grasp his arms tighter around his body. Arwen took one look and ran from the room. Elrohir didn't know what to do. "Legolas?" he asked very quietly. "It is all right, it was just a spider. It is all right, Legolas." Elrohir reached out to put his hand on Legolas's shoulder, but Legolas drew back.  
  
Meanwhile, Arwen had not simply run off. She wanted to help. "Ada!" she cried, having finally found Elrond. "Ada."  
  
"What's wrong, Arwen? What is it?" He did not expect that anything was really wrong, just some small thing, Arwen being a young child and perceiving as such. However, he listened with interest because, young as she might be, Arwen was still his daughter.  
  
"Something is. . .I am not sure. It is not good though. I think I might have done something wrong," she half-explained, a bit scared of being in trouble, and only partially comprehending the situation.  
  
"Exactly what has happened, Arwen?"  
  
*****  
  
Legolas couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing, that is, but the big emptiness, the fear, the blame. He had wrapped his arms around his body and now he pulled his arms tighter, trying to contain everything, as if afraid he might explode or fall apart if he did not hold himself together. Though the noise had stopped, it echoed still in his soul, and the paralyzing terror had not gone away.  
  
This had happened before. The boy did not know why this happened to him, and he wished it did not. However, he could not stop it. All the warmth seemed to have left him now, indeed he was so cold that when Elrohir reached out his hand to touch Legolas's shoulder he drew back, afraid he would be burned. Suddenly, out of the void, Legolas felt a hand on his back.  
  
"Legolas? It is all right, Legolas, it has passed," someone said, before lapsing into Sindarin. Legolas associated the voice with the hand on his back, and the hand lifting his arms out of their death-grip. The soft- spoken Sindarin broke whatever spell had been cast over him, and he managed to raise his head. Feeling flooded Legolas, and he was suddenly ashamed and, at the same time, grateful to Elrond--never before had someone managed to draw him out of one of those such trances. Not that anyone ever had tried. . . With even more shame he realized that his face was wet with tears.  
  
"I didn't meant it," Arwen said quietly. "I did not want to hurt you, Legolas."  
  
"No," he said, using the back of his wrist to wipe away his tears, "you did not. It is all right, Arwen. Really, it is all right." He was unsure of what to do. Would it be right to ask them all to leave? Should he try to explain? His jumbled and streaming thoughts were broken by Elrond's voice.  
  
"Is something wrong, Legolas, that you would like to talk about?"  
  
"I. . ." Could he say it? But what could he say? 'I have gashes up and down my arms because I hate myself? My parents scream at each other and it's because of me?' No, that would not be right. It would not be right to burden people with his problems. He had to deal with it on his own--he had to hide it. Too weak for words, he shook his head. "I am fine."  
  
*****  
  
Elrohir did not care what Legolas said. He was not fine. Something was very wrong. Somewhere, deep inside of Legolas, something was amiss. And no matter what it took, Elrohir would fix what ever was wrong. Unfortunately, Legolas was just as determine to hide all of it--everything that made him seem like a bad person. He liked having Elrohir's friendship, and would not risk his best friend over some stupid coping problem.  
  
The light of the candle reflected brightly in Legolas's eyes. The flame danced. Taking his dagger in a far too common motion, like a drone, Legolas dug the blade into flesh far deeper than usual. It felt brilliant, and as soon as he drew out the blade he knew he had cut too far. But that didn't matter--the sticky liquid ran free of boundaries, spilling over his arm, hand and tunic. It felt good, real good, perfect clarity--and then clarity brought a dizziness to him, and he realized that this time he had indeed gone too far.  
  
Legolas groped for bandages, then fell to his knees and embraced his own destruction.  
  
**********  
  
That's it for now. Anyone wanting more should probably review. . .I'm not saying I won't write on without reviews, but I do like to know that people are reading, so just say "hi" or something, please, if you've read this. 


	4. Wish upon a star tonight

TO FLAMERS:

First, a note to flamers. If you are not one to do such a thing, don't bother reading this. I received the following flame anonymously: "Oh, for fuck's sake! Is it just me or do some idiots LOVE to make the canon characters suffer? It's fucking sick. Firstly: Legolas is NOT a masochist! It's completely OOC. Tolkien made his characters more or less PERFECT. Secondly: LEGOLAS DOESN'T HAVE A GODDAMN BROTHER. You are desecrating Tolkien's work by writing this piece of utterly mindless, gratuitous trash. Please TAKE IT DOWN." First off, I fail to see how such language is necessary. Second, yes you pendajo, some people do like it when canon characters suffer. Would you like to know why, or would you rather wallow in ignorance? I'll tell you, anyway. Not everyone in this horrid world is happy, or has it easy. I can tell that you don't really care about other people, and that's fine because frankly I doubt anyone cares about you. Writing is often an escape, and that is why the characters suffer: when they have our problems we can see what they do and it might help us decide what to do ourselves. Also, it takes away some stress. It makes us feel less alone. Yes, I am aware that Tolkien made his characters more or less perfect, but what do you mean to tell me? That once we fall, we cannot get back up again? If this is so, I'll be opening my veins soon enough--but oh, wait, I don't do that stuff anymore. People change, though some people do not and are terrible souls all their lives, such as yourself, but most people have ups and downs, and some have low, low downs. But they learn how to get back up. They learn that things aren't always that bad. They learn to grit their teeth and hang on tight, and fight the ones that want them to hurt. Also, Tolkien really left Legolas's past a blank, so how do you know if he had a brother or not? If either of us is desecrating Tolkien's work, dear, it is you--I know if I wrote a book, I wouldn't want pendajos such as yourself to even touch it. As for taking it down, you're a minority for that one. Welcome to America: republic, my dear, means majority rules. Toodles! I hope you suffer needlessly for many years to come! If anyone read this and still plans on flaming me, let me just request kindly that you shove that empty lump on your shoulders up your ass.

As for the rest of my reviewers, thank you SOOO much!!

Cheysuli: Worry not, I'd never kill of a character--I have far too much respect for the elves to kill them. It isn't Arwen's fault, she just got scared and didn't know any better. She's just a kid, after all! And I know, I have the book, I just never liked it enough to finish it.

Jenni: Thanks for reading, and I'll take it as a complement that you don't like this stuff but read three chapters of mine!

Mannariel: I actually tried to make Legolas's masochism as real as possible, remembering what had happened to someone I used to know and basing it on that. I'll check out your story at some point, but you may have to wait a couple weeks--I'm on track A, so I'll have two and a half months to do basically nothing soon. If I haven't read yours by then, I promise to read it in December (the start of break). Sorry about the sentence structure, but I think funny and thus I write. . .oddly, at times. Anyway, thank you so very, very much for reviewing!

Susan: Okay. I've written more, as per request, and thank you for reading!

Starfleet Hobbit: Yay, I have a fan! Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to review.

Salak: Heh. Have written more, you need only ask.

CocoBeans: Don't be so hard on Legolas! He has to want to get better, and these sorts of things can be very hard to get over. Arwen didn't realize how Legolas would react to the noise, and she was just a frightened child. She never meant to hurt anyone, and she's dread sorry, so go easy on her. As for what's going to happen, you'll just have to read and find out!

Anya-Ring of Sarcasm: If it's uncommon, at least my messege is reaching people, I figure. Thank you for reviewing and reading and all that. More for ya, just read on!

Supernovacade: You have no idea how much what you said means to me. Yes, I am going to continue, I'd write an entire story whether people reviewed or not, but if no one was reading I wouldn't post. Thank you so, so, so much for reading and majorly boosting my self-esteem.

Melissa: Thanks for taking the time to read and review. It's always nice to know that someone out there reads.

Anon: Thanks for reading, reviewing, and requesting that I keep writing--when people do so, I always will write more.

Jill: Your logic is infallible: good story, write more. Thank you!

Cacophony-of-senses: Thanks for reading and I will continue!

GoldenRose: Hell, yeah, I'm evil. I make reviewers such as yourself wait for more, and that means that YAY YAY YAY people read and review! And I just love suspense and melodrama, I'm a total sap. And I definitely deserved to be yelled at for that cliffie.

Enigma Jade: Odd compliment. Anyway, more is here!

LegyLover: Everyone who has read it before does know what happens, but don't worry, I've been trying to post a chapter a day, so soon you'll know, too. As for Legolas…you'll see.

Collie Girl: Thanks! The titles are from fortune cookies. As for "major issues", I take personal offense to that, because Legolas's reaction to loud noises is exactly the same as my own.

Soulsearcher: I'll have to find the lyrics to that song…but then, Gollum did sort of strangle his loyal friend Deagol, so I'm not surprised no loyal friend was ever by him! At least it's only "heh" for you--my friends think I'm weird for saying words like "knickers", "bugger", and "trousers". I think it's more remembering than déjà vu, but call it whatever you like, no one can stop you without large amounts of masking tape. Wow…THANKS!!!

Kit Cloudkicker: Erm…well…you sort of have to read the story…

Helena: Thanks, I'm glad you like it.

Brown-coffee-eyes: If it strikes a chord with you, that's probably because this is, with some changes, what happened to me. And I had to stop, too, because it hurts, doesn't it, knowing? Good for you, for stopping. It's hard.

Tamara: You'll see…

Amunet: Thanks, hi, here's more.

*****

"Legolas, I am extremely sorry about Arwen, she doesn't understand--" Elrohir stopped as he caught sight of Legolas. The Elven prince lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood, his hair splayed out above his head like a glowing halo. The strands of normally tame hair ran over and under each other, still tame but a wild tame, a perfect glitch. His face held a look of utter contentment and acceptance of what was to come. Even his eyes, which Elrohir expected would have been so deadly blank, looked simply happy.

For a moment Elrohir couldn't move. He stood frozen, staring down at the soon-to-be corpse of his friend, lying not a foot from his toes. Suddenly, a warm, sticky feeling came over Elrohir, just on his foot. Looking down he saw that it was blood, Legolas's blood. He was tempted to stare into it, just look at the deep endless chasm of elven insides, but his conscious mind fought the gruesome idea. "No!" he exclaimed, moving hard over to Legolas.

"Come on, Legolas, this isn't what you want! This is not what is meant for you, _vanimelda_." Elrohir was only a child, but he had seen his father healing plenty of wounds. Calming himself, making sure he did not become hysterical, he found bandages on Legolas's desk. With swift movements he wrapped the sterile strips of linen around the deep wound. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he stood. "I have to get _Ada_, Legolas. I'm not a healer. You will be all right, I promise."

*****

Legolas had been gone from his body. He felt like a bird, just watching the blood flow, watching his life drain away. Of course, a bird also dies if it loses too much blood, and Legolas himself was beginning to fade. Nearly all of his vision had ceased when he saw a blur, a dark-haired blur, come to his side.

Elrohir's words took a while to penetrate Legolas's daze. He hardly understood them, perhaps a small amount of sense, but that was all. One word, however, four small syllables of Sindarin managed to pierce through the hazy barrier between life and death. "_Vanimelda_." Someone wanted him back.

The bird flew to nest. Halfway there a stone ruptured its wing, and it plummeted to the ground.

*****

Elrohir's legs were burning when he reentered Legolas's room. He had hardly allowed himself to slow, thinking only of Legolas's life. Now he skidded to a stop, leaning against a wall, fires starting to spread through his lungs. "You were right to bind the wound, Elrohir, but there is little else you can do now," Elrond said, "perhaps you should alert Legolas's parents, and please make sure Arwen does not come in here."

Elrohir nodded. He straightened up and rushed off again. "Thranduil!" called Elrohir, racing up and down various corridors. The fire threatened to creep back up into his legs and lungs, but he squelched it. "Thranduil!" He hardly noticed when he nearly crashed into the elf. "Legolas. . .is hurt," he explained between breaths, then ran off again.

Elrond had said to keep Arwen away. Elrohir took no heed of that order. He ran back to Legolas's room, not about to let his friend suffer alone. Though there was little to nothing for Elrohir to do, he felt that not being there would constitute abandonment. He stood by the wall, out of the way. Elrond said nothing, but gave him a questioning look: was Elrohir sure he wanted to stay in here? Elrohir was.

Thranduil did come, not long after Elrohir told him what was wrong. Legolas had been moved onto his bed by then, and Elrohir did not hear what Thranduil said. The deep red stain on the floor beckoned, calling him. He took a step nearer. Still it beckoned. Everything swirled around him, except the crimson stain, which only became bolder, growing and pulsating. Elrohir took a second slow, slow step towards the blood, now a deep pool in which he might drown.

Forgotten for the moment, the boy fell to his knees. The blood called to him. Sinister tendrils groped for the Elf, the healthy, happy, stable Elf-child. He closed his eyes, only listening, only hearing the calls. It enticed him, and he felt a wetness wrap around his wrist. The wetness tugged. "No," he whispered. "You may have taken Legolas, but I will _not_ succumb to your power. Never."

Despite his brave words, the wetness was overpowering him. Slowly, he lifted one finger, then a whole hand. Immediately the wetness drew away. Elrohir did not try to pull his hand back. He inched the appendage forward, dipping his fingertips into the sticky puddle before him. It was cool and welcomed him. Before he knew what had happened, he was drawn fully into the blood.

Elrohir's body fell forward. He submerged entirely in the vermilion lake, moving his arms to stay afloat, yet delving deeper and deeper with his mind. He swam to the floor of the lake, ran his fingers through the loose soil. He kept going in a steady stream along the lake floor until his fingers hit something, something sharp, metallic, and evil. Drawing the cruel object up with him, Elrohir made his way out of the red ocean, his body dripping blood.

Elrohir felt a hand on his shoulder. With a gasp, his eyes flew open. He was breathing heavily. The blood was no longer soaking his body, but sweat dripped from him, sticking his hair down and causing the object in his hand to slip. He grasped it tightly on reflex. It was Thranduil whose hand was on Elrohir's shoulder. "Thank you," he said awkwardly, "for finding him here…and everything you did for him."

"I only wish I'd found him sooner," Elrohir replied, holding the object close to his side, not daring to look lest he draw attention to it.

"I wonder what ever happened to him?" With this hanging question Thranduil walked away, downcast.

"Yes," said Elrohir slowly, "I wonder." He had seen the knife now. There was nothing left for him to wonder about, except the intentions of the blood lake. It was not evil, after all. It was good, it had to be. It had given the dagger to Elrohir to protect Legolas. Still and all, it was Legolas's blood. Deep down, Legolas wanted to heal. "Will he be all right, Ada?" Elrohir asked loudly, turning his head to see.

"With any luck, he should be well again soon. Do you think he will be all right, Elrohir?"

"I think he will, Ada," said Elrohir, moving to stand beside Elrond. "I think he will be just fine."

*****

Elrohir was glad to get to bed that night. It hardly seemed as though it had been only a few hours. He had found Legolas near death, and bound the wound. Recalling the process of binding the wound, linen on flesh, soaking up the streams of blood, made Elrohir sick and shivery and cold all over. He doubted he could do such a thing again, unless thrust into a time of reflexive actions and no thought.

At first Elrohir had been sure that the wound was an accident. Then, when he had gone into the blood-sea, he had recovered a knife and thought Legolas was asking for help, maybe subconsciously. But surely that was not so, Elrohir thought. His mind must have just been reacting to the sight of all that blood. The knife, the cut--that had been an accident.

Hadn't it?

Elrohir had moved easily to grab the bandages on Legolas's desk. Why hadn't the Elf prince put on the bandages himself? Why hadn't he cried for help? How had he possibly cut so long and so deep on accident? Suddenly, Elrohir was wide-awake. This was wrong. This was Legolas's secret, his big problem. 

Of course! It was so obvious! Why hadn't Elrohir seen it before? He was so stupid. Legolas had gotten seriously hurt. He might have died. And it would have been Elrohir's fault for not seeing the truth before.

There was a soft swish of fabric and a clink.

Elrohir sat up, alarmed. He sighed and laughed at himself when he saw that it was only his tunic, having been thrown across a chair, and just then having slid to the ground. Then what was to clink?

He threw back the blankets to dig through his pockets. Out came a small amount of lint and then the answer: Legolas's dagger. The evil thing, the thing it took some degree of control and maturity to wield. The thing that was now Elrohir's responsibility. He wondered if he could keep the knife safe.

As if it knew, the metal gleamed a cold temptation in the moonlight.

*****

The deep gash had cut into a muscle. It would heal, with quite a bit of time. Until the muscle was ready to be used again, Legolas had to keep his left arm relatively still and in a sling. This was a great disadvantage as he was left-handed. Luckily, though, since he was left-handed, all the other cuts were on his right arm and his legs. No one knew about his secret, and he liked things that way. Still and all, that had been too close for his liking.

When Legolas awoke, he had some explaining to do. "I'm sorry," he began. "It was a feral cat. I got rid of it, but it scratched deep into my arm. I should have called for help, but before I knew it...I guess I just lost consciousness." He wondered who had found the dagger. He wouldn't mention it, though, only explain--should it be brought up--that he had meant to use it in case it was needed, to fight the cat. His father believed him. Elrond looked skeptical, knowing well the injuries of feral cats, but he also accepted the story. Elrohir stood to the side of the room, looking straight at Legolas. And Legolas knew then that Elrohir saw him for a liar.

Every time Elrohir glanced in Legolas's direction, Legolas bowed his head. The two did not talk much for Legolas's first few active days. While Legolas slipped, dropped his eating utensils, and attempted to read and write one-handed, Elrohir stood off in a corner, deep in thought and observation. He kept the dagger with him constantly, and had much to think on. Finally, the two met on a stairwell and stopped.

"I know the truth, Legolas."

"Elrohir, I. . ." what could he say? "I cannot tell them. I just can't."

"But why, Legolas? Why would you do such a thing? What has happened?" Elrohir tried to be as gentle as he could be. If he went about this the wrong way, he knew, he might make a mess of it, and the might never get another chance.

"I have my reasons," was all Legolas would say.

"What reasons? You are a wonderful person, Legolas. Why would someone so good as yourself do these things?"

"Stop it. Stop saying that. I am not wonderful, I am down-right terrible."

"No, Legolas, you are not. You are not terrible," Elrohir said softly, but with conviction, hurt etched into his face and his voice. He reached out to reassure Legolas, draw him back from whatever swamp he was drowning in. It failed. Legolas hardly knew he was drowning, and he drew back. Elrohir's lips parted as if to speak, but there were no words.

"I am so sorry, my friend," Legolas whispered, and he turned and ran off. Elrohir stood motionless, trying to gather his thoughts, and then sat down on the stairs and cried, his head in his hands, his fingers twined in his hair. He was utterly without ideas. Legolas didn't know he was drowning, and Elrohir could not reach far enough to save him.

*****

That's all for now, more later. Sorry, I know I should do more but I've got school and all this crazy stuff.

__

Vanimelda means absent friend and "pendajo" is a dirty word in Spanish


	5. You have the power to influence all with...

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Cheysuli: Don't worry. Elrohir is a very good swimmer. (  
  
Golden Rose: You'll find out what the deal with Legolas's brother is in this chapter (if you read it). He might hate Legolas, he might not. As for why his parents fight, why do any parents fight? It was just supposed to be an average sort of thing, you know, two people don't always get along. Thanks for dissing the haters, and the story will continue right about **scroll down!!**  
  
Salak: I totally agreed: let us write what we want, and don't bug us just because your sucks. As for killing, torturing, and maiming, well, nothing too bad for the sake of Middle Earth--it takes all nine members to get the ring to Mordor, I believe. Do I ever take too long to update?  
  
Analorien: Elrohir won't be sad for too long--just a little melodramatic! And I always continue when someone asks. Right, own up--so if that flamer is reading this right now, own up, you wanker! Sorry about that. . .  
  
Poetic Muse: Yeah, angst fics are great for depressions. Much better than the possible alternatives, such as masochism and suicide. As for listening to what the flamers tell me, I listen to the voices in my head more often! Aw, I didn't mean to make anyone cry. The thing with the blood was inspired by a scene in the movie "Trainspotting" entitled "the Worst Toilet in Scotland".  
  
Artemisa: Glad you like it! I rather like those three as well, so I write a lot about them.  
  
Anya-Ring of Sarcasm: Legolas and Gimli slash? Sick and perverted! Wrong, oh so wrong!! You are right though, that's probably what the flamers write! Anyway, to see more of this story you need only to scroll down. . .  
  
Smeagol: I think you missed the entire purpose of this story. It is not a sweatshirt advertisement!!! And must you be so mean to Arwen? Some people don't like to be teased cough-leeches-cough.  
  
CocoBeans: Analogies are just one tool of writing. Which my English teacher was probably stressing the day I wrote that chapter. Anyway, glad they helped you understand.  
  
Starfleet Hobbit: Hey, let's sell tickets for shoving flamers into the Dead Marshes! That'd be fun. . .  
  
Karate elf: Thank you, and thanks for taking the time to review. And flamers are hell-scum.  
  
Lady-Daine: It's sort of seeing things, but it was supposed to be the images their minds created, how they saw themselves and others around them. Having friends who do things like that, it does hurt, but when you know they won't do it again, that's when it pays off--because you know you've made a difference. Only four days until the movie, but I get to see it tomorrow. . .  
  
Basil: Another grammar addict! I find grammatical incorrection very annoying, and thus try to avoid it myself--unless using it to make a sentence stand out more. I read the books, saw the movie (many times), but I thought Legolas was the sort of guy who had to come from somewhere. I mean to say, look at how hard it is to crush his spirit. No one with a simple past, and no hard scars (mentally, emotionally, and maybe physically) is like that. At least, that's what I thought. He and Elrohir are supposed to be about eleven in this story, so he has a long way to go before the Council, though that is a good idea, and yes it is pre- Fellowship. I guess I hid it a little too well, but the problem, that causes Legolas to act this way, is explained more in this chapter. Thank you for your help!  
  
Tamara: Thanks! And once again, you'll see.  
  
Kit Cloudkicker: Have you ever considered punctuation?  
  
Lady of the Forest: Suicide is actually not as bad as it's cracked up to be. If someone is that miserable, you have to realize, living is a complete terror for them. They don't want to do it any longer. Many people spend years in such misery, and it's terrible. But thanks, and sorry for my weird little speech-thing.  
  
Sirithiliel: What bothers me most about flamers is that they are so. . .so unaccepting. It sort of frightens me, like, hey, this is the world I was born into and these are the people in it, and they are so terrible. Sounds pretty dumb, right? Sometimes I wish I could just hate them like everyone else--but then, wouldn't hat be on the same level as them?  
  
Kura: Thanks! Oh, and sorry about that mistake--I'm British, and. . .well, what people say about Brits speaking Spanish is pretty much true about me.  
  
Soulsearcher: The thing with the lake was actually inspired by a scene in the film 'Trainspotting'--but thanks! They printed it in the IHP Newsletter, and a boy didn't quite understand what fanfiction was--he asked me if that was written by Tolkien! It was pretty wicked awesome. I am British! 'Course I like British words! I'll say "panties" every so often, and "breeches" or "jeans" on occasion, but mostly, it's knickers and trousers all the way! Wow, that sounded weird. Hehe, I can do the accent-- I'm pretty good with accents. If you've seen 'Finding Nemo', remember the shark? My sister is always asking me to imitate him ("Fish are friends, not food"). Before that it was Pippin ("What about second breakfast?"), and before that Anne in 'The Others'. . .I'm glad to hear that, because everything I write from Elrohir's perspective is guesswork--you know why: I'm Legolas. Great hearing from you, as always!  
  
Faer: Thanks!  
  
LegyLuva: Thanks! Ah, sorry about the mistake.  
  
Lily: Thanks! (wow, I say that a lot) Thanks for the blue skies and ESPECIALLY for the happy faces--I'm starting high school in a few months, so. . .yeah. . .just slight nerves there.  
  
*****  
  
Legolas quivered. A puff of black smoke went up from his candle. Without his dagger, he had only the candles. At first he had watched them to get away from his parents' shouts, which his heart accused him of causing, and now he watched them to forget. He no longer wanted to think of Elrohir, of little Arwen, of his brother Naithon, of his parents, or even of Mirkwood. He wanted it to go away, for all his problems to evaporate with a puff of smoke--black like the candle smoke.  
  
"Legolas!" There was a knock at his door. "Please let me in." The voice was polite, but firm. Elrohir was determined to enter.  
  
"Is it important? I was just going to sleep--"  
  
"No you weren't! You are wide-awake, I know you are. And yes, it is very important." Legolas heard Elrohir's tone and knew that he had no intention of budging until he was let in. With a sigh, Legolas crossed the room and unlocked the door. Elrohir waited until the door was a hair's breadth open, then shoved it open the rest of the way. He walked in with such authority that Legolas wondered if this was the same boy he had left crying on the stairs not an hour before. "We have to talk."  
  
"I do not think there is anything to discuss--"  
  
"You lie," said Elrohir firmly and calmly. Elrohir and Legolas were still hardly out of childhood, and these two small words from Elrohir's mouth sounded like those of an Elf of many centuries. His authority had not left him at all. Legolas silenced himself, closing his jaw so quickly it cracked. Elrohir stood like a statue. "I know, Legolas. I know that there was no wild cat, and Ada knows it, too."  
  
"Elrohir, my friend, you doubt my word?" asked Legolas in an oily voice. With a sinking feeling he realized that he was speaking as Naithon used to, when telling Legolas outrageous stories that would get the younger boy into trouble or hurt, but desperate times called for desperate measures.  
  
"Tell the truth, for I would tell it to you and I mean you no ill will. I want to help you. Masochism is a terrible thing, Legolas, and I don't want you to have that life!"  
  
Legolas was touched by the words. He nearly told Elrohir everything, tears pending. 'No,' he thought, blinking back tears. "I will not have this in my home," Legolas announced, heading angrily for the door. Elrohir was faster and had anticipated the move, and slammed the door shut before Legolas could reach it.  
  
"You will not run from this conversation a third time. Stand there, like an elf of honour, and speak to me, and hear what I will say. I saw the dagger, Elrohir. I saw it in your blood."  
  
"I had the dagger, but only in case it was needed to fend off--" Legolas tried to explain.  
  
"Lie to me not! Or, if this is true, then face your enemy," challenged Elrohir. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the dagger. Horror passed over Legolas's face. His hands shook. One hand raised, reaching out for the dagger, but Legolas drew his hand back. He couldn't take it, he would hurt himself even more with it. If Elrohir kept it--and make Elrohir face his choice? Would he sink so low as to bring upon his friend the evils that he had brought upon himself? Again the hand extended, drew back, extended and drew back. "I saw the bandages on your desk. You could have bound your own wound. You could have called for help."  
  
"I never would hurt myself," Legolas said, keeping his and Elrohir's gaze even. Yet his eyes slid to the knife again.  
  
"You cannot take it, can you? You have no heart that would let you. But it is all right, Legolas. You made a mistake--one little mistake. That can be recovered. You can earn back the trust you have chosen to forfeit. You can fix your reputation. And the first step is to own up." Elrohir's words rang true in Legolas's ears, yet they also rang with a falsity. Elrohir thought it had just been that once.  
  
"All right. I did it. I cut my muscle. I'm sorry," Legolas admitted in complete lies, save the sorry. He did regret it, for it had gone so far as to affect his friends and family. Elrohir knew this at once to be untrue, and he called it.  
  
"Legolas," he said slowly, in a low voice, "take off your tunic."  
  
"What?" Legolas was surprised. Elrohir could not really mean to check over Legolas's body for scars. "You do not trust me, Elrohir?" The oil again.  
  
"No, Legolas. At this moment I do not." It hurt Elrohir to say this, but it was true. "Come, if you have nothing to hide, you ought to have no fear. Just let me see for myself that you have no scars, no healing slash-marks." Elrohir's voice held no oil. It was like a slimy voice, only clean. It was slick with honesty and compassion. Legolas, with shaking fingers, curled up the bottom of his tunic to show the smooth, unruptured skin on his belly. Then the let the tunic fall over his stomach again.  
  
"Are you satisfied?" he demanded angrily. Elrohir would not succumb to anger.  
  
"No, Legolas," he said again. "No, prince of Mirkwood. No, mellon-nin. I will not be satisfied whilst you lie to me, whilst you hurt. Can you not see? You may feel that no one cares, Legolas, but open your eyes! I care! Arwen cares! Ada cares! Your parents care! Naithon cares!" He had had enough. He had nearly yelled in anger and exasperation. His chest heaved. "No, Legolas. You think too much of others to ever hurt yourself so, because you know it would hurt them that care for you." Turning, he began to open the door, hoping this volley of lies, this dying tactic, would work.  
  
Legolas's head reeled. He had what he wanted. Elrohir was off his back about it. Then why did he feel so awful? Why was he so let down with his behaviour? "E-Elrohir?" he hardly whispered, more breathed the name, but Elven ears are keen. Elrohir froze. Legolas didn't know where to go from there. Carefully and slowly, he peeled off his outer tunic.  
  
Beneath the heavy yellow covering, Legolas wore only a white under-tunic, sleeveless. He felt as if his soul was naked standing before Elrohir with his cuts exposed. The tunic rumpled to the floor, and it stayed there. Legolas did not move. His face contorted as he held back sobs. Wet tears finally ran free down his face, and he was ashamed of them. Legolas's face burned. He closed his eyes, and wanted to shake all over. What would Elrohir think? Would he hate him? Would he scorn him? What if Elrond found out, and did not let Elrohir speak to Legolas anymore?  
  
Elrohir turned slowly, afraid of what he would see. Now it was he who wanted to run and hide his head under a pillow as Arwen did, but Elrohir would not. Arwen was a child, and Elrohir was not allowed that luxury any longer. His eyes fell to Legolas's right arm, so marked as a cat's scratching post. Some were scars already, fading to the color of the boy's skin. Others were red as welts, covered in soft pink flesh. Still others were rough, as sand, and in the process of healing. Elrohir lightly reached out and lifted Legolas's arm. It was as lifting a rag.  
  
Suddenly Legolas's sobs broke. His tears were streaming, as the ford of Bruinen when a rainstorm raised its waters. The Elf prince sobbed freely and wildly. It was then that Elrohir realized he, too, was crying. Legolas fell to Elrohir for support. Elrohir caught his friend, and slowly lowered both of them to the ground. His own legs shook so badly he feared to fall. For long hours the two stayed in each other's arms, tears flowing freely and with no shame.  
  
"Why?" Elrohir whispered. "Why, Legolas?"  
  
"It just hurt so much to know what I had done," answered Legolas through tears.  
  
"What could you have possibly done that was this bad?" Elrohir cared about his friend, more than almost anything else, but at that moment all he wanted was to be away, to know that this was just some terrible nightmare. Yet he forced himself to stay centered and focused, and to let Legolas speak, if he would.  
  
"You do not want to know," Legolas said, sensing Elrohir's reluctance.  
  
"Legolas, listen to me," Elrohir said, his tears stopped and his authority regained. He held Legolas at an arm's length, and looked right into his eyes. "I am your friend. No matter how much it hurts, I am here for you. Sometimes things happen, and they hurt us real bad. And at times like those, we have to know that a true friend wants to draw back but does not, because you matter more. You can tell me whatever you want to, Legolas, and you can leave anything hidden."  
  
Legolas didn't believe it. He searched Elrohir's face for some sign of falsity. No signs were forthcoming. Legolas again collapsed into his friend's arms. Elrohir held him until his tears had run their course. "My parents," Legolas sniffed, "they fight. They yell and scream, bad words and hurtful words. I thought at first that it was just a sick joke, but then Naithon--he told me that it wasn't. It is all my fault, Elrohir, do you not see?"  
  
"Oh, Legolas," he breathed in disbelief.  
  
"You hate me already."  
  
"No. No, that is not true. Naithon needs someone to blame, Legolas! Can you not see? He hurts, just as you do, and this is his way of facing it. You did nothing wrong! You are without blame, Legolas."  
  
"I. . .what?" he stared at his friend, unable to believe it. All those years he had believed he was a demon, all the times he called himself a curse--those years were lies. And for the first time in a long time, Legolas felt free.  
  
*****  
  
"Can you do this on your own, Legolas?" Elrohir asked. Legolas knew his friend was only concerned for him, and his mental stability.  
  
"I have to. You are the best friend an Elf could have, Elrohir, but if I cannot stand on my own," he paused, unintentionally drawing dramatic affect into his voice, "I will fall."  
  
"Tell me how it goes, then. Best of luck."  
  
"Thank you, Elrohir. Not just for the luck, but for everything. For knowing what I was doing, for not letting me shut you out."  
  
"All in a day's work," Elrohir joked. "Go on, no more putting it off," he admonished with a playful shove. Legolas turned and walked slowly from Elrohir. Elrohir watched for only a moment longer, proud of his friend, then turned himself and strode off.  
  
Legolas swallowed, nervous. What would his father say? What if Legolas lost his courage? What if--what if--"What if I took all day standing here asking what if?" he pondered aloud, then he knocked on the door. "It is me, Legolas!" He called out. "May I come in?"  
  
Thranduil rubbed his eyes. Mirkwood was in a difficult situation, politically, and this was stressful for the Elven King. However, Legolas never asked for anything but a moment's time, which Thranduil could spare. Of his two sons, Thranduil favoured Legolas, although he tried not to let it show, for Legolas was calm and thoughtful, almost without the capabilities of malicious thought. He called to Legolas to come in, wondering what the boy had to say.  
  
"I. . ." Legolas choked out the first syllable, then lost his tongue. How could he say it? 'I love to see my own blood?' 'I habitually open my flesh?' He could not form the words to explain it. Instead, he rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. A shocked expression crossed Thranduil's face. How could Legolas have done something like that? Legolas, who had always been the quiet, happy one. Surely if something had been wrong, Legolas would have spoken up, not hurt himself. So if Legolas did not do this to himself. . .In Thranduil's mind, he had already asked who it was that had done this. And that was the undoing of much of Elrohir's hard work.  
  
"Elrohir--" Legolas began, but he did not get past that name. A look of anger now crossed Thranduil's face, and Legolas understood something. The king of Mirkwood could not believe that his children, his bloodline, or anyone else in his family was so corrupt. He would place blame where blame was due--or where he saw blame due. "No," he tried to shout, but his mouth was so dry it was only a shadow of a whisper. He fought hard to bring saliva into his mouth, to free his tongue from its place, glued to the roof of his mouth. "No, I did this!"  
  
No one heard the boy's cry.  
  
*****  
  
TBC 


	6. Even on a cloudy day, the sun still rise...

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any related people and places.  
  
Golden Rose: Hey, it's out in general release! Heh heh heh. . .Happy Christmas, if I did translate the French bit properly (technically I'm an atheist and my family is "Jewish"--not a single Bar or Bat Mitzvah in generations, but I get to celebrate Christmas, as well, so why not let it be happy? And it can be happy even for those who don't celebrate it!)  
  
Furious: To begin with, although masochism has become more popular over recent years I believe it has gone on throughout history. I understand that you don't feel the Elves would do that sort of thing, but that's just it-- some people know they are going to do these things and no one, not even their own parents, will believe them. Which one is James Joyce again? I'm not so good with contemporary authors. Yes, the way I write it is a psychological disorder--because that's what masochism is. It isn't some hobby for bored people, it isn't healthy, and it isn't normal, it is a disorder of the mind. By the way, when you said "if this is an original story", were you saying that I plagiarized it? If so, I had no intentions of any such action and apologize to whomever's story I copied.  
  
Cheysuli: Thranduil is going to behave in a manner befitting his character. In other, plainer words, you'll just have to wait and see! Elrohir is my borderline perfect character--whatever he feels, he knows how to swallow it and act rationally. I know when the movie opens--well, opened. Gollum sings!! And he keeps the beat with a fishy! And Elrond makes Arwen cry. Anyway, I'll stop ruining it for you.  
  
Joey: I'm sorry I made you cry and brought back bad memories. That's not what I was trying to do. Also, do not worry about Elrohir, because he will not fail. I didn't mean that remark to offend anyone; it was just a careless thing I said a joke. I'm not against any slash, but let's face it-- a flamer like mine would writer really, really bad slash most likely. Sorry you were offended, it was not intentional or the remark fully meant. I'll be more careful next time.  
  
Carol Stevenson: Well, one might imagine princes have more trouble then any, and princesses as well--Elizabeth Tudor, for example. No matter what anyone appears, they have some inner struggle. Or they're a flamer, but that's just their problem.  
  
Innocent (and Poetic) Muse: Sorry I made you cry, thanks for saying I write well. Elrohir won't die in this story, worry not.  
  
Coco Beans: French is a fun language! Though not as good as Sindarin.  
  
Starfleet Hobbit: Oh, but I mustn't tell you what happens next. That would ruin the story!  
  
Karate Elf: I get to see it early because my friend Lili's grandmother is a member of the Academy of Motion Pictures and there was this screening and. . .yeah. Thranduil handles this. . .not well.  
  
Analorien: No, there will not be a battle of the Elf lords! That much I'll tell.  
  
Soulsearcher-Arbariel: Thanks! And yeah, Elves don't get sick, but I had writers' block so I tweaked one small, little fact. Sorry Mr. Tolkien! Please don't sue me! Glad to be of help with your story. Legolas and Elrohir's friendship is something, as a child, I always imagined friendship was like: friendship is a place deep inside of you, which means that they will walk with you where others fear to tread. Of course, I never had a friend until just last year, so my definition seemed a bit daft even to me and I won't take it personally if you think I'm stupid and thick. Or die? While I do not fear death nor deny that some day I shall die, it would be a pity to leave the readers--such as yourself--in terrible suspense. Perhaps another cliff-hanger. . .by the way, your reviews were very nice to receive and reassuring to a certain highly insecure author. . .  
  
Smeagol: Um, you think it's better that he is a masochist than that he has a nice wig? I mean, mohawk!! Mohawk mohawk mohawk!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!! Anyway. I refuse to bow to your deity, so there.  
  
Susan: You're welcome! And thank you for the wonderful review! Flamers should keep their mouths shut, and their fingers off the keys! Yeah, sure, you don't have to say how to improve my story if you like it as is--not a bit less melodramatic and more descriptive, with a few action sequences? Just kidding. Even though I'm not genius--but Smeagol, who reviewed my story, actually is a genius. And a good action writer! Anyway, on to the story. . .  
  
Lirenel: Thranduil thinks it was Elrohir. Thanks for reviewing and for saying the story's well written!  
  
Rin: Hey! Not all girls are organized! Plus which. I know a boy who is organized beyond belief and thinks he's dirty if he only fits in two showers on any day. I am utterly flattered by you saying this is "one of the best stories" you've read in a while.  
  
Lady of the Forest: He should do something, but he can't. And of course I keep you in suspense! It's fun. . .heh heh. . .'Nightly Gleams the Blade' is more on writers' block than on pause right now.  
  
Tamara: Yes, he does. . .you'll see.  
  
Elêwen: Yeah, but how is that inaccurate? Most bilingual couples don't shout at each other in the language their children are most familiar with. Words have different meanings in different places.  
  
Soulsearcher: What does that explain? Meh. . .I'm so confused. . .Anyone would kill--I'm lucky I don't have to. Well, actually--no. Won't be depressing.  
  
Legolas's fanatical fan girl: Thanks, and as for the note to flamers, well, when I'm in a bad mood, it helps to have someone to write nasty notes to, and flamers are just so good for it!  
  
*****  
  
Elrohir was proud of Legolas. It was not good that he had been hurting himself, and it was terrible that Naithon made him think so low of himself, but that he could admit it to the person he least wanted to hurt was incredible. That took courage, the sort Elrohir deemed of more value than the courage it takes to slay, to take life. Elrohir was sitting on his bed, simply being proud, when he head a small sound from the doorway. "Ada?" Elrond did not look pleased.  
  
"Perhaps it would be best if you heard for yourself what charges have been brought against you," Elrond said. Elrohir was confused. He had done nothing wrong! He knew that he was without guilt and undeserving of whatever accusation had been made.  
  
Elrohir followed Elrond through a labyrinth of corridors until they came to a room Elrohir had not seen before. "The library," said Elrond, and he entered. Elrohir followed, still unsure of what was going on. Inside, it began to make some sense. Thranduil stood, red in the face and looking very angry. Beside him cowered Legolas, suddenly looking small and weak. His face was contorted with emotional pain, and he was almost crying.  
  
"There he is," Thranduil said, "ask him, he will tell you!" Elrond looked at Elrohir, and the boy felt sure that his father believed Thranduil, whatever he had said. Elrohir's heart sank.  
  
"Elrohir, Thranduil has accused you of something very serious," Elrond said condescendingly. With a flash of anger Elrohir wanted to say that he was Elrohir, not Arwen, and he did not need to be addressed as a child, but he held his tongue. Wasn't anyone going to state the accusation? Elrohir looked again at Legolas, who hid from his glance. "He has said that you have hurt his son."  
  
"What?" Elrohir whispered. He was shocked. He never did anything of the sort! Didn't Legolas go to tell Thranduil exactly what had happened? Legolas had lied to him. There was no other answer. "No," he whispered softer. Elrohir could not believe that his best friend had betrayed him.  
  
"Did you hear that? He denies it!" Thranduil exclaimed. "He is both a danger and a liar!"  
  
"Thranduil," Elrond replied calmly, "I do not believe that my son would lie to me."  
  
"I can prove he is guilty!" Thranduil was nearly shouting now, far louder than was necessary. Legolas twitched. Turning to Elrohir, Thranduil commanded, "Empty your pockets, boy." Elrohir looked to Elrond, who nodded.  
  
"Do what he asks," Elrond said. Elrohir did. Emptying his right pocket he produced a stone and a piece of parchment.  
  
"Oh," Elrohir said, seeing the parchment. Thranduil reached for it, but Elrohir snatched it back. "That's personal."  
  
"No it is not! It just proves your guilt! Now let me see!" He managed to grab a corner of the parchment. Elrohir let go, not wanting to tear it. Thranduil unfolded the parchment, so sure this would prove Elrohir a convict. It was in those few seconds that Elrohir's tool came to his mind: Thranduil was afraid. He was so desperate to assure guilt because he was afraid that Legolas really had done this! "What is this trash?" Thranduil asked. Elrohir felt anger welling up inside him.  
  
"It is mine, give it to me," he demanded, earning a disapproving look from Thranduil and a look from Elrond stating that he was disappointed with Elrohir's behavior. Elrohir took a deep breath. For his plan to work, he had to stay calm. "May I please have back the picture Arwen drew?" he asked.  
  
"That is what is on the parchment?"  
  
"That is all that is on the parchment, Ada," Elrohir said. "Arwen drew it two days ago."  
  
Thranduil's entire body pulsed. He stared from Elrond to Elrohir and back. Finally he wadded up the parchment and tossed it, none too gently, at Elrohir. "Just some stupid girl's scribbles." Elrohir was getting angry again, but he didn't let Thranduil know that.  
  
"If you are satisfied, Thranduil," Elrond began, but Thranduil did not let him finish.  
  
"He has got two pockets," Thranduil stated. Elrohir's heart dropped even farther. He had hoped, with the picture as a diversion, that he could get out of emptying his other pocket. Slowly he dipped his hand into the pocket on his left side, and drew out a knife--the knife. "He is guilty. This is proof even you cannot deny, Elrond."  
  
"Do you have an explanation for these things, Elrohir?"  
  
"No," he said, "but Legolas does." The Elves looked at the cowering boy, and he drew farther away from them, hanging his head.  
  
"How can you call on him?" Thranduil demanded. "Look at the child, he can hardly bear to see your face, and you ask him to testify to its innocence? Only such an unfeeling person could cause the harm my son has suffered."  
  
"Be wise with your words, Thranduil," Elrond warned. Elrohir took the momentary distraction to cross the room to where Legolas stood. Elrond watched, but could not hear, as Elrohir rested a hand on Legolas's shoulder. Legolas shied away and tried hard not to make eye contact with Elrohir. Elrohir was patient, and talked quietly to Legolas. Legolas stopped struggling against him and gently shook his head. Elrohir nodded as he responded, then lifted Legolas's chin to meet so their eyes would meet. Elrohir nodded again, repeating what he had just said.  
  
I was wrong, Elrond realized. There was no way his son had done what Thranduil said he had done. No one could cause such incredible pain and then be so gentle to anyone. Elrohir stepped forward. "Legolas has something to say, Thranduil, and it is important," Elrohir announced. Thranduil looked straight at Legolas, who cowered but did not avert his eyes.  
  
"I," Legolas began nervously, his voice twitching. He couldn't believe this. He had said what he had done, and Thranduil had accused Elrohir. He had even felt relief then. If he blamed Elrohir, all of this would go away. No one would be hurt by his actions. Then with a pang of guilt he thought of Elrond, whose son Legolas was about to accuse, and Arwen, who could never look up to her brother again, and Elrohir, who would only be hurt by Legolas's betrayal. He was not low enough to cause that.  
  
But now what? If he admitted it, he would hurt his family. He would dishonour them, and hurt their feelings. So what could he do? "I made it up," he said, quivering. Thranduil and Elrond both looked at him strangely, Elrond surprised and Thranduil disgusted. The disgust shot through Legolas, and he looked to the floor. Only Elrohir seemed to understand.  
  
"No!" Elrohir cried. "Stop lying and tell the truth!" He demanded more of Legolas than he knew. The truth was too much; it was harsh, undeniable, and confounding. Neither boy in full knew or understood it. Legolas shook his head, a small gesture only Elrohir caught. "You have to! Legolas," he whispered, "you have to." Legolas heard the tears springing into his friend's eyes before he saw them, tentatively raising his head.  
  
"Maybe. . .maybe I did not make this up, Ada," Legolas muttered, eyes on the ground. "Maybe," he raised his head and looked into the fear-filled eyes of his father. "I did this myself."  
  
*****  
  
TBC 


	7. The one who listens is the one who under...

Disclaimer: I don't own it, but these words are my own, so please do not steal them without my permission.  
  
Vicky: Actually, sulking reviewers might make me continue. Plus, I'm on break **happy dance** so I have plenty of time, and my fingers itch if they don't type. . .I'm glad you liked it and thanks for reviewing!  
  
Coco Beans: You'll just have to wait and see. . .heh, soon enough for you?  
  
Poetic Muse: I guess, then, it's a compliment. Yeah, that bit was difficult not to rush or anything, so this bit may go a little fast.  
  
Nerys: Thank you for saying that! No one gets it: that's one of my morals. And Thranduil, in this chapter, is a bit more of a git. You'll see.  
  
Starfleet Hobbit: Out of the woods? You do realize that he is a **wood** Elf, don't you? Just kidding! Oh, I *must* write more? Well then, scroll down!  
  
Fairy Lady: Thank you for saying that, I am really glad I have made a few more people understand what it's like. Legolas will have to find confidence some place, and some time soon, or he'll be just one step up from raw for many years to come. And as for the flamers, they deserve it, don't they?  
  
Lady Diane: Thank you for reviewing, and is this soon enough for you?  
  
Karate Elf: By the Valar, Elfie, here's another chapter? Have I ever taken a long time to update?  
  
Katz Omnipotent King: Hey, I was only kidding! But I'm glad you liked the story.  
  
Crazy Lunar Maiden: Thank you and you're welcome. Are you all right? As for recovery, I have a friend who was doing similar things for different reasons. This story was written for her, so others would understand what it's like. It takes some strength to get over that type of thing, and good luck to you. My friend said just know that what you are doing is right, if that helps.  
  
Cheysuli: Well, you've had to wait, haven't you? Just kidding! **Scroll down**  
  
Analorien: Hey, that was just a joke! And how could I leave this story off on a cliffie?  
  
Wicked Misty: Just be careful with your words. Just what does Thranduil know? (You'll understand when you read this chapter)  
  
Soulsearcher Arbariel: Um. . .was that question directed at? I'm sorta an atheist, so I can't answer for any gods. Elrohir is my vision of what a friend should be, what a friend should do, and now I'm happy to say I have friends like that. As for Legolas, this is his journey. He will become the great warrior, the child is just his beginning. And you don't have to beg-- of course there's more!  
  
Midnight Dove: Flamers are easy to ignore, but more fun to flame in return! Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Dream Catcher: Thank you, Shield Maiden. I can explain to you at school some time, or e-mail, what would make someone do something like that. I'm not a genius, but Smea and Daniel (no, not Gaines or DK) and a bunch of other people are! I'm working on an original copy for the newsletter. And everyone dies, you ought to know that. That's why I said "suffer needlessly"! Anyway, thanks for reading.  
  
Roselyne: Why yes, I did stop it there. Heh, just because you always use cliffies, doesn't give anyone else the right to! Just kidding. Don't worry about Legolas. Eventually he will have to **want** to explain, or he will never really heal.  
  
EQJS: First, you are not a dork. Second, thanks!! Yeah, I got out on Friday, too. No more school until March!! And Legolas and Elrohir are about the elf-equivalent of eleven, Arwen of five.  
  
Lady of the Forest: Hah, you don't remember, then I shall just have to keep posting, eh?  
  
Faer: Then you have a truly sick sense of humour. As for your other review, thank you, I do try to play off emotions rather than physical exertion, if you know what I mean.  
  
Ash: Thank you! Maybe you like to see Legolas as vulnerable for the same reasons as I do: it makes you feel good to know someone else went through it, and came out strong.  
  
Legyluva: Thanks!  
  
Soulearcher-too lazy to log in: Thanks. I'm not very articulate at the moment, so I'll leave it at that.  
  
Kit Cloudkicker: You'll see.  
  
By the way, when I asked "Who wants another chapter?", I was going to post one anyway, that was a joke. But you should still review!!  
  
And if anyone has a spare moment, check out something by DreamCatcher, her "Crimson Threads" is unnaturally spectacular!  
  
*****  
  
Thranduil's muscles stiffened. He swallowed. It was clear he was trying to keep calm. Finally he said, "Legolas, I think we should discuss this alone." Legolas nodded and mutely followed his father into another room, his nervousness returning. Without Elrohir there to make sure he told the truth, what would he say?  
  
Elrohir watched with unblinking eyes as Thranduil guided Legolas out. He trusted Legolas to do what was right, and what was good, and tell the truth. However, he did not trust Thranduil. "Ada," he said quietly, unsure of whether he spoke aloud, "Thranduil will force words from the boy's lips that never once weighed on his mind."  
  
"While this may be so, it is not your place to interfere," Elrond reminded him, amazed at how mature his speech and actions had become.  
  
"Not my place, not my place, not my place," Elrohir ranted softly, and the maturity evaporated. He was just a child again. "Nothing is ever my place. As far as I can see I have no place." Elrohir was only allowing his anger to vent in this slight form, for anger it was. None could endure such abuse of a comrade without anger.  
  
"Elrohir--"  
  
*****  
  
"Now, Legolas, there is no one here to force you to lie," Thranduil said. "You can tell me honestly." Now only fear drove him. It could not be, simply could not be! It was not possible that Legolas was so. . .so sick.  
  
"But I already did," Legolas insisted, a bit confused. He had said, hadn't he, that it was he who sliced his arms? He had told the truth already. He was sure of it. "I already told the truth."  
  
"No, son. That was not the truth. Everything is all right now, no one will ever hear what you say except for me." Thranduil gave Legolas a look, trying to incorporate comfort and openness into it. Legolas saw only lies. "Who did this to you, Legolas? Just say their name."  
  
"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood," he stated, quiet but firm. "Legolas did this to me." Thranduil's face looked angry now, but Legolas's head was too far bowed to see that.  
  
"Tell me the truth now," he commanded.  
  
"I already told you the truth! I did this! I did this because it's all my fault! Because I'm the reason you and my mother are always screaming at each other! I did this to punish myself for what I did to you!" He felt tears burning in the back of his eyes, but he would not cry them here. He felt no comfort around his father, and was too tense to cry.  
  
"That is a lie." Legolas was astounded. He had told the truth. He had told the entire truth, and his father had refused it. "That is a lie and you know it," Thranduil insisted. Legolas was desperate now. He wanted his father to know the truth, he wanted to be better so he didn't need to hurt himself anymore, yet when he tried to tell the truth it was slung in his face.  
  
"It's not a lie, I do this to myself," he insisted before his father accused Elrohir again.  
  
"Is that some story Elrohir invented--"  
  
"No! Listen to me! Elrohir is innocent! He is my best friend in all the world, and he would never hurt me! You brought this upon yourself. Your inability to stay in the same room as my mother without screaming brought this down. Now your inability to see the truth is blinding you!"  
  
*****  
  
Elrond was cut off by a shout from the other room. "Elrohir is inocent," Legolas said. A smile crept onto Elrohir's face. It started at his lips, and kept spreading until his eyes shone with pride. "Good for you, Legolas," he whispered. He had never been more proud than that moment. Legolas had not only managed to keep true to himself, despite Thranduil's words, but he had kept true to his friends. The Prince, it seemed, had great virtue in him, which Elrohir had known was there all along.  
  
Elrond looked at his son, and immediately forgot the rebuke he had begun. This was not some child having a tantrum, this was someone older, more adult than that. The look on Elrohir's face was not unlike the one Elrond recalled seeing on Celebrian's face when the twins first started walking: the look of a proud parent. The caring and compassion in that sort of look, Elrond had always assumed, came from some sort of sentiment in the female brain, connected with giving birth and such. Now he saw that he was wrong. It was not even a parent's look. It was, in a way, the pride of knowing you have passed something on, made something better.  
  
Elrohir was about to say something, when again he was cut off.  
  
***** "Boy, I am warning you, stop this right now--"  
  
"No! I won't stop! You asked for the truth and I will give it in full! I hate myself! I hate the fact that I do this! I hate the fact that my brother makes me feel guilty about everything! I hate the fact that you make me! I hate the fact that I'm your son! I hate you! I hate you more than anything else!" This, Legolas realized, was true. He hated his father, who would not see the truth, who would not notice his son, who would not help him. He hated his father who made him want to cut like that, who made Naithon feel whatever pain he was in. Oh, yes, Naithon was in pain, there was no question about that.  
  
"Don't you lie to me," Thranduil commanded, "never lie to me like that." His voice shook, not with anger but with fear, fear he tried to hide in all his fury.  
  
"I never would, father. I may be your child, but I am nothing like you." He sighed and drew in breath, staggered with the severity of what he had done. He was glad to feel so light, despite the tension in the room. The truth hung open for a moment--and Thranduil slammed it closed, as one slams closed a book.  
  
*****  
  
Elrohir's face burned with rage. His chest heaved in anger. His fists clenched. "You bastard, you bloody coward," he muttered, although Thranduil could not hear him. He flew forward, ready to physically assault Thranduil for what he had done to Legolas. Had Elrond not caught him, he probably would have.  
  
"No, Elrohir. You are not that low." Elrohir stopped twisting at his father's words.  
  
"I do not understand, Ada, how you just sit idly by and let this happen. How do you justify it, for I cannot."  
  
"It is not my place, Elrohir, nor is it yours."  
  
"Is anything your place?" he demanded. "Or do you never take action?"  
  
A moment passed. "You are not going to storm out in anger?"  
  
"I stay for Legolas."  
  
*****  
  
Legolas's head snapped to the side, but he did not cry out. He did not reach to the burning spot on his cheek. He did not allow the tears to come. He understood now that his father was not strong, was not an elf to be proud of. Things could have been worse. But for what it was, Legolas burned with shame to be related to Thranduil in the least.  
  
Thranduil believed the boy's spirit to be broken. "Now you listen to me, Legolas. Tell me the truth right now, and we can forget those lies you just uttered. You can be the better Elf."  
  
Legolas whimpered. He opened his mouth to lie to his father, but the words stuck. He gaped like a fish. Finally, he realized. It was as if the sun had risen in his body, giving new light to everything, inside and out. He raised his head, smiling. Now Thranduil's fear was known. Now he realized how little power Thranduil had. And, staring directly into Thranduil's eyes, Legolas said, "No, father, I cannot. There are better elves--Elrond is a better Elf, even Naithon is better than you. And Elrohir is above us both, for he saw what I am and what was wrong, and he accepted it. So I cannot be the better Elf than him, but I can be the better Elf than you. Yes, I see it now. Take this truth or wallow in your shallow, pitiful weakness: I cut myself. Now see this, and slap me again, Father."  
  
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So? Any good? No, that was not the ending. Just the end to one chapter. More to come! Did you all like? And remember, don't be too hard on Thranduil. I haven't written his thoughts yet, only his actions. 


	8. The only rose without a thorn is friends...

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
Soul Searcher-arbariel: I didn't mean to kill anybody!! Legolas was good all along, his morality caused his masochism. Elrohir, for that matter, is supposed to be near to perfect as a friend. You probably are just like him, in fact I'll bet you are. I have trouble believe that I'm a fantastic writer. As for originals, I'm working on the original right now. That would be funny, if you read it and you were like, "Wow! I already read this!" Wait. . .you already died. . .oh, well. Dead reviewers are not a good thing. More here!!  
  
Reviewer who left the little name box blank: Calm down! Here's the next chapter! Deep, deep breath. . .  
  
Dream Catcher: Um, well, you oughtn't judge Thranduil yet. You haven't heard his thoughts on the matter. And you're welcome, what are friends for? Anyway, you're a much better author than me.  
  
Seanthi: Yes, it is a human story, and cutting is psychological. Don't cut, though. It isn't worth it, and you're better than that.  
  
Analorien: Thank you for your encouraging review and happy post-holiday season.  
  
Koorinean: Are you okay? You didn't pass out or anything, from not breathing, did you? Thanks for the nice review ( and here's another chapter! Yay!  
  
Kate McKenzie: It would be impossible to stop this one!  
  
Skye: Thank you and you're welcome!  
  
Kaimelieanim: This goes for you and your friend: don't cut. It isn't worth it, and you are better than that--don't say you aren't. If you ever need to talk, you can always IM me or e-mail, just don't cut. Thank you for the review, by the way.  
  
Tamara: well, most of it, anyway.  
  
Faer: Thanks! Ah, but Legolas is not judging him on his quality as an Elf; Legolas judges him on his quality as a father. A good person isn't necessarily a good parent.  
  
Soulsearcher: Wow. . .my work is a drug! (haha, get it, because you said you got high? Hah. I know, I have a bad sense of humour) Not all dentists are evil. My great-uncle is a dentist. Which is weird, because my great- aunt is a PhD, so they're both doctors. . .weird. . .  
  
IrishChickie: I'm hoping by "has cut before" you mean you no longer do. If you ever feel like you want to or you need to talk, this may sound strange but, I'm always here. Just, if you want to cut and there's no one about to talk to, you can talk to me.  
  
LegyLuva: Ooh, where are you? Hope you're having fun!  
  
Musicstarlover: Thank you! Thranduil's thoughts are explained a bit more in this chapter.  
  
Thanks everybody, I love hearing from you guys!  
  
*****  
  
As soon as the words were out, Legolas felt both relief and fear. Relief because now he had no more to say, no more guilty admissions to make. He had told the truth, the real truth, and now if that was not taken, too bad, for he would not lie any more. Fear because there was every chance that his father would deny the truth of his words. It did not bother him that he had invited his father to hit him, if he did, Legolas would only know beyond any shadow of doubt, that he was indeed alone of a blood family.  
  
Thranduil took a long time in answering. He seemed far worse off than Legolas, who was standing tall and proud. Thranduil was hunched over, unsure of anything. The son he had always counted on to be reliable, strong, like a pillar that stood through all torrents and weathers, was really a weakling. But was he? Here he stood, his jaw set, with the strength of a thousand men. He still did not raise his hand to the red mark blooming on his cheek.  
  
Guilt shot through Thranduil. What had he done? So desperate was he to prove Legolas's words false that he had assaulted his own son. There was so much pressure that he could not handle it, and he had done something he regretted. . .just like Legolas. He had just wanted to believe that something in his life was constant. It had to be--it just HAD to. Legolas was lying, that was final. This had to be some sick joke.  
  
"Tell me the truth, my son," Thranduil implored.  
  
"Father, I pity you. But I have already done so. I will not lie for you again." Much as he wanted to turn and walk away, much as he wanted to let disgust fill him, Legolas restrained himself. He was better than that.  
  
"That cannot be so!" He was almost whining, almost like a child, and while Legolas understood this pain, he would not bear it. His own pain he had carried, sometimes not well. If his own father could not hold his own, well, Legolas was not about to step in, though it was what the man asked. This was not about cutting anymore, it was about the problem that cried for such a solution: it was about hurt, and what caused that.  
  
"I cannot believe you ask me to do this. I will not bear your soul. Let you think on what you have said, and if it is what you mean say nothing to me. If you do not mean this, you may tell me what indeed you intend." With these words he turned and strode from the room.  
  
Thranduil fell into a chair, nearly losing consciousness. Could it be true? Could he have caused this? Was it he who was destroying his world from the inside out? Tears ran down his cheeks. In anger he swiped at them, but still more came. This could not be him, this weakness! It just was not possible.  
  
*****  
  
"Legolas," Elrohir said, hardly having any words. Legolas met his eyes, smiling grimly, eyes shining brightly. Elrohir found his own vision beginning to blur. The two Elves fell into each other's arms, crying. "He hit you. I'm sorry."  
  
"Do not be."  
  
"I brought this on you, I am no friend."  
  
"All you gave me was courage and my lost pride and dignity. Would you have those back?" Legolas asked. The two only cried harder. For what may have been hours, and may have been minutes, they cried in each other's arms a second time. It was exactly the same as last time, yet could not have been more different.  
  
*****  
  
"What are you going to do now, Legolas?" Elrohir asked, staring out the window at the rising moon.  
  
"I suppose. . .that choice is before me. I may try to mend things with my father, though still my anger with him boils inside my mind. Perhaps I could stay for the good of Mirkwood. I may be a child, but there is much I could do here."  
  
"Why are you so disgusted? Whenever you mention your father, you sound sickened."  
  
"He refuses to believe me. He is afraid of what I tell him." Legolas sighed. "He is no leader, no father, only some paranoid old man. He has begun to make arbitrary arrests in his forest, though I should not call it rightly his. There is nothing I can do, really, but stay and watch things deteriorate."  
  
"Hmm. . ." Elrohir thought on this for a few moments. "Take a job out of Mirkwood. Be your father's messenger or perhaps a soldier."  
  
"No, I have shed my own blood. I will never shed blood else, only that of Orc and great spiders. Elf, Man, and Dwarf shall be safe from my blade and bow," Legolas vowed. Though he said it in a light, lazy voice Elrohir knew this was setting in on his heart.  
  
"A messenger then?" he asked, picking out strands of Legolas's hair and braiding them.  
  
"I have tried that path before, and they say I am too young."  
  
"You have aged a thousand years," Elrohir countered, now braiding three braids together.  
  
"Perhaps, but will they see it?"  
  
"I am sure they will." Legolas felt, for the first time, a slight tug at his scalp. He twisted so he was looking Elrohir in the eye. "Are you braiding my hair?"  
  
"Who do you think I am? Arwen? No, I am not braiding your hair." Elrohir held back his head in false disgust. Legolas sighed to express his doubt, and returned his head to the convenient position it had been in before.  
  
"Just no more than five braids."  
  
"All right, no more than five," Elrohir submitted.  
  
"I knew it."  
  
"I was just joking, Legolas."  
  
"Were not. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Culprit!"  
  
"I have done nothing," insisted Elrohir indignantly.  
  
"Oh, really? I think I will go look in a mirror. . ." he suggested in a idle tone.  
  
"Oh, fine." Pouting, Elrohir unbraided the gloating Elf's hair. He was glad, in a way, that while Legolas was mature he still knew how to have fun. After all, he was still a child.  
  
*****  
  
Legolas felt the sun's rays on his face as he awoke. A smile remained on his face. He twisted his head once more to stare at Elrohir. "How long have you been up?" Legolas bordered on angry. Elrohir was looking at him and smiling, as though he knew some great joke.  
  
"Not long. I did not want to wake you, you looked so peaceful," Elrohir said sincerely, but still had that smile. Legolas lifted his hand to feel the back of his head, which was still resting on Elrohir's stomach, as it had been when they fell asleep the night before. Braids ran all over his scalp. Elrohir started to laugh. "All right, so you fell asleep first and I got bored!"  
  
Legolas got to his feet and shoved Elrohir off the bed, then headed off to unbraid his hair. He was staring into the mirror, still as a statue except his hands, which moved like lightning. In the mirror he saw Elrohir step into the doorway and lean against the doorframe. "I have another option for you, should you not become a messenger," he announced.  
  
"What is that?" Legolas asked, expecting some joke, not turning his head but meeting Elrohir's eyes in the mirror.  
  
"Come with me when I leave."  
  
"Stop joking," Legolas requested.  
  
"It is no jest," Elrohir insisted. "Rivendell is a lovely place, it is very calm and very safe. No evils can cross the Bruinen, and--"  
  
"And have you asked your Ada?" Legolas asked, whirling around.  
  
"Well, no, but--"  
  
"And have you asked my father?"  
  
"Not yet," Elrohir admitted, "but Legolas--"  
  
"But nothing, Elrohir. They see us as children. Your Ada, should he agree which I doubt he will, is going to ask my father, who will keep me here. I appreciate the thought, but it is folly," Legolas stated.  
  
"Really? Because the last time Ada looked at me I saw his eyes, and they shone with the sort of pride and the sort of longing that told me he accepted me as an adult." Despite Elrohir's words, Legolas started walking away. "You would not even try it? I thought you had learned, Legolas."  
  
Legolas stopped. Surely, he was not so closed as he had been. There was no way he was still so unwilling to accept any answer, as before. "All right. Let us try it, there can be no harm of that."  
  
*****  
  
"Ada," Elrohir said, "Legolas now has to decide where his life is leading him. I suggested that perhaps his life lead him to Rivendell."  
  
Elrond sighed. How could he explain the impossibility of that to Elrohir? "Elrohir, while Legolas is a wonderful person--"  
  
"Elrohir, Ada. I am Elrohir, stop treating me like I am Arwen." Elrohir had wanted to say that for a while.  
  
"Very well. Legolas cannot go to Rivendell, because his father would not let him." Elrond knew what protests were coming, and he held up his hand to stop them. Elrohir was silent. "Thranduil will not allow Legolas to go to Imladris, and there is nothing either of us can do to overcome that."  
  
"How do you know, if you have not even asked yet?" Elrohir asked, verging on anger. Why would his Ada never try anything new, never even consider anything?  
  
"I know because I have asked, Elrohir."  
  
Elrohir had nothing to say, but his mouth hung open in shock. He had found that, recently, he had thought his Ada never did anything, just presumed what would happen if he did act. Had he been so short-sighted?  
  
*****  
  
"Father, I wish to be a messenger for my king," Legolas announced.  
  
Thranduil thought on this. His youngest son, perhaps only wanting to get away from him. The pain he had caused Legolas still rested on his heart. Could he refuse him, let him feel claustrophobic in Mirkwood? Thranduil only wanted to keep his son close, for comfort and stability. But was it right to do such a thing? Could he hurt his son to stop his own hurt? "All right, my son. Good luck."  
  
Legolas could not believe his ears. He was to be a messenger. It would work out, things would be well. "Thank you, Father. Thank you very much."  
  
*****  
  
"Legolas, don't do anything stupid or fun while I'm not here, understand?" Elrohir joked, holding Legolas's hands in his. "That means no fun at all."  
  
"Right, not a single smile," Legolas returned, and the boys laughed. Legolas's hands became heavy in Elrohir's, and his tone changed. "I will miss you."  
  
"It will not be long," Elrohir promised. "Ada promised I would see you again. Though he may have been trying to keep me quiet for a while."  
  
"Probably. You talk so much, I thought my ears would go round!" The boys laughed.  
  
"I suppose. . .namaarie."  
  
"Namaarie," Legolas said with a quick nod. The two embraced one last time.  
  
"Legolas," someone said. The boys turned. They had completely forgotten about Arwen. "Namaarie!" and she, too, hugged Legolas, though she was considerably shorter than he was.  
  
"You are always welcome in Imladris," Elrohir whispered.  
  
"I am a messenger now, Elrohir. Many times I shall be in Imladris."  
  
They finished saying their farewells, and Elrohir left Mirkwood forest. Legolas, tree-loving as he was, jumped from branch to branch, following silently behind the three. Elrohir noticed him, and smiled. Elrond asked why he was smiling, and Elrohir just shook his head. "Happy Elves," Elrohir said cryptically.  
  
And the two laughed one last time, together.  
  
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All right, now there is an epilogue and then it's on to the sequal. 


	9. Changing your mind changes your world

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable is not mine.  
  
Legolas's Fanatical fan girl: Yes, it does have to end, but there are three more stories in the series, and perhaps more to come. So it's not really over.  
  
Soulsearcher: Aw, I'm so jealous! I didn't get to see Reloaded. As for muses, well, may I just point out that it's rather amusing to call an Elf 'manly'? I know you mean masculine, but nevertheless. . .is this funny? I think so. Little Bird, eh? **snickers**. . .do you watch 'Seasame Street'? I'm thinking about Big Bird. . .but then, my name means 'Busy Bee'--so I'm hoping you haven't seen 'Best in Show'. I don't know what I'm going to do about actually writing an original of this. Originally, it was Lenni and Noria, but I think instead it's going to be Kestrel and Jordan--characters in my crazy-weird novel. And if (when) I get my crazy-weird novels published, I'm going to e-mail you and tell you to go buy my crazy-weird novels because you've read the originals. I'm babbling again, aren't I?  
  
MorotheWolfGod: Hey! I finally know where your name comes from!  
  
This series has been continued. Next is 'Thicker Than', then 'Forever Mithril', and after that 'Nightly Gleams the Blade'.  
  
All right, I'm sorry, but this has to be said: masochism means many things. Yes, it can mean religious fervor and yes, it can mean sexual pleasure from torture. It also means to abuse one's self, and it can be for any number of reasons. Now, before you start arguing, I'll just say this: that I know well what the word means, maybe too well. When my friend was doing things like this, her therapist called it masochism, and she was far too young for it to be sexual and too atheistic for it to be religious. If anyone really, really has a problem with my use of the word I will go back through the story and change it to "self-mutilation", but other than that, just leave it be, all right?  
  
*****  
  
"Elrohir?" He stood alone beside the forest pool, gazing into its water. His own face gazed back at him, and in his palm he held the dagger, Legolas's dagger. "Elrohir," his father said softly, seeing the dagger.  
  
"It did so many bad things, yet I cannot bring myself to become rid of it. The blade tempts, and it tortures. . ."  
  
"Elrohir, you are very young in the world to face such a thing as Legolas's practice. Self-mutilation, or masochism, is rare among the Elves, and chances are you will not meet anyone else with such an affliction. If you do, do not be confused: this is the result, this cutting, not the problem, and its causes vary from case to case. The torture of the blade is an escape, and a very intricately balanced torture, for often when using it people enjoy it. Often the mental and emotional stress caused by quitting this habit is enough to drive one back to it for solace. Legolas is extremely lucky to have a friend like you to help him through it."  
  
Elrond rose and left his son on alone with his thoughts, trusting him to make the right decision. Elrohir could no longer hear the steps of his father when he gazed at the blade. "You have been a fair adversary," he whispered, then gazing back to the pond he drew back his arm and threw the dagger with all his might, watching it sink into the depths of the murky water. "I win," he whispered. But there was no pleasure in this triumph.  
  
They were riding again, and Arwen had fallen asleep, when Elrohir asked, "Ada, does masochism not refer to sexual enjoyment of pain?"  
  
Elrond thought about this for a moment, then replied carefully, "It can. One definition of it, that one being self-mutilation, is not far at all from the one you have stated."  
  
"How is that, Ada?"  
  
"Do you think Legolas enjoyed cutting himself?"  
  
"He told me that he did," Elrohir said, still confused. "At first he enjoyed it, then he could not stop and he hated enjoying it, but still he found some peace. . ."  
  
"So you see, there is only a slight difference in the definitions. And what is that?"  
  
"One is sexual," Elrohir replied, "but both are forms of pleasure." Elrond nodded solemnly. Now Elrohir understood, and he felt his stomach churn. When they reached Rivendell and Elladan greeted Elrohir, he stared at him.  
  
"Brother, you have aged a million years."  
  
"Yes, Elladan, I do believe I have."  
  
And as the two brothers locked eyes they saw that each envied the other, and neither could understand how.  
  
*****  
  
The End. 


End file.
